


Lucid

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 03:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10351584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Neville gets an unexpected gift.This is a gift for anyone waiting for a moment.  This moment, too, however rare it may be, is in itself, a gift.





	

Once upon a time, Neville Longbottom's grandmother would have lost her head over him leaving a position at the Auror Office. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley Shacklebolt did his magic behind the scenes with piecing the Ministry back together, and he chose Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and him, Neville Longbottom, to come along for the ride. Neville, shocked and a little confused, accepted the post. He got the offer because of his name. Not wanting to turn down the Minister for Magic, or the Acting Minister for Magic, or whatever Kingsley went by, Neville joined his childhood friends and jumped into the fire. 

Kingsley really was Minister for Magic now. It had been five years. Harry and Ron rather shuffled through their first few years of Auror training. Kingsley phrased it along the lines of the three of them "putting their hands on the fire". Ron said it was more like flying by the seat of Merlin's pants. Things had slowly settled down. Kingsley's wife always joked about Kingsley's lack of hair. If the man had had any, she'd said, he would have definitely been pulling it out. Neville and the others never saw this behind the scenes, of course, because Kingsley lived by his calm demeanor. Neville wouldn't be Minister for Magic for all the gold in Gringott's Bank. Kingsley might be known for his level head, and he'd definitely earned the mark of "caretaker Minister", yet Neville felt anyone succumbed to the stress and the pressure that came with holding the office. 

Neville cleared out his desk with a casual flick of his wand. The contents, knickknacks, divided themselves among a couple cardboard boxes. Neville had accepted a post at Hogwarts three days ago as the newly appointed Herbology professor. Professor Sprout was stepping down to travel the world and spend time with family. She'd jokingly offered him the post two years prior as they sat in one of the greenhouses clearing out old stuff. He'd missed the punchline, though, and it was only during last week's interview that this had finally dawned on him. Professor Sprout had a good laugh. It hadn't been much of an interview, honestly. It was more like a summertime conversation between friends, and Neville felt pleased and rather honored they'd crossed that bridge in their relationship. 

"You've got everything?" Kingsley's deep voice made Neville jump. Neville usually dropped whatever he was holding whenever he was in a skilled, senior Auror's presence. This time it was the old Remembrall. When Kingsley mended it, the trinket formed in Neville's hand and it appeared to fill with red smoke. Neville privately thought Kingsley enjoyed scaring him because Neville had an impressive startle reflex. "No." 

As per usual, Neville couldn't remember whatever he'd forgotten. He tossed the Remembrall, another gift from his grandmother in his seventh year at Hogwarts, and caught it. He'd lost the first one ages ago. Although his grandmother scolded him about stuff left, right, and centre, Augusta Longbottom had certainly liked that he was easy to shop for. Neville usually received things he'd either forgotten or misplaced as Christmas or birthday gifts.

"I could've told you that," said Ron, stopping outside the cubicle with Harry. Ron poked his head inside and flashed a couple brown bags. It was after six in the evening, and the majority of the officers had called it a night. The place was dead. "We have food." 

Ron stated the obvious. Neville liked this about him. Kingsley left the cubicle, followed by Neville, crestfallen, still clutching the Remembrall. Neville, Harry, and Ron took turns grabbing dinners, for these all-nighters were becoming all too familiar. Ron took the lazy way out. Neville placed his wand on the brass scales when they approached the Annex, the interrogation quarters. The Annex housed more than this, of course, but they needed a table and chairs, and a quiet place for a meal. Technically, this was against the rules. Neville pocketed his wand once a cool, female voice identified him. He ripped off the sheaf of parchment recording the details of his wand and stuffed it in his pocket. 

Ron, making himself at home, emptied the bag and dished out the food from plastic containers. Neville shrugged, surprised he didn't see the usual fried food feast from the Leaky Cauldron. There was a half chicken, mashed potatoes, and a fresh salad. A dessert was off to the side. Harry conjured metal chairs, and they seated themselves around the table. They all dug in. Kingsley, still standing despite the fourth chair, opted for the salad bowl first and left his other plate untouched. 

Ron, his mouth filled with mashed potatoes, laughed at Kingsley. "It doesn't even have dressing. That's rabbit food." 

"Molly gave us some," said Harry, gesturing at the glass bottles in the centre of the table. He had recently dropped the formality with Molly Weasley, seeing as he was officially part of the Weasley family and had recently married Ginny. 

"No, no, I'm fine," said Kingsley, crossing his legs. He didn't usually stop by the Auror Office, though Neville knew it was his last day. Kingsley kept long hours in his office, too. He turned, probably because they were all staring at him as they tucked into mountains of food. "A man chooses a special at a pub, and nobody blinks an eye. However, he eats a plain salad, and the world flips into chaos. What?" 

Harry and Neville snickered as they turned back to their food. Ron, eating with both hands, set a stripped chicken leg aside and opened a bottle of beer. Ron rarely missed a meal. Whenever he did, he made up for it later in the day. Hermione Granger was no Molly Weasley, yet she clearly wasn't starving her fiancé. Neville liked to eat, no doubt about it, though Ron put away some food. The demands of an Auror career kept him in shape. Anyone in the Auror Office had to pass an annual physical. Neville lived as a happy bachelor in London in a studio flat. The starting salary as an Auror wasn't much. Neville lived a comfortable life. 

"You're a health nut," said Ron, shrugging when nobody else spoke up. Ron told Kingsley this at least twice a month. 

"I am not!" Kingsley vehemently shot down these accusations. He lived in denial. He accepted a beer from Harry, opened it, and took a swig. Ron repeated it, grinning from ear to ear, as Kingsley conjured a water bottle. Ron sat back, letting Kingsley switch out the drinks and prove his own point. The Minister acted almost religious about his salad on the side every night. Kingsley made a face, stabbing a tomato. "I'm not an almost married man getting food from his mother, but, hey, what do I know?" 

Neville nearly knocked over his beer, gasping when his swig took a wrong turn and went up his nose. Harry, laughing, reached over and slapped him on the back. Ron, nodded, agreeing with the Minister. Neville had enjoyed growing closer with his friends after the war. He wasn't the strange, awkward kid anymore, although he still clung to both. Neville accepted that he was no Frank Longbottom. When his gran finally received the message, things got easier. He felt more comfortable in his own skin. He wasn't the fat kid sitting on the sidelines anymore. He'd gone to the Three Broomsticks for a pint the other night. Maybe, just maybe, he'd returned home with hopes of a steady girlfriend. He grinned, blushing as Ron coaxed the details out of him about Neville's and Hannah's third date. 

"Neville!" Ron and Harry chorused as they clinked bottles.

"Single no more. Maybe." Ron edited his compliment and nursed his drink as he helped himself to seconds. Neville shared the story, breaking it down for them. Kingsley stopped Neville, holding up a hand, whilst Ron voiced his concern. He, too, held up a hand, placing Neville on pause and spraying him with bits of chicken. "Stop. Wait a minute. You bought drink for a training barmaid?"

Kingsley finished his empty salad container on the metal table. "What'd Rosmerta do?" 

Neville flushed red, embarrassed he hadn't caught his mistake. He mirrored Madam Rosmerta's hand gesture, a quick wave of hand. "She threw my money back at me." 

"Yes, she saved me once, too. Saved me from making a grave mistake with the wife. Patti was all for me messing up, too." Kingsley waved his wand over his food saver, and it cleaned itself. Kingsley clapped Neville on the shoulder before he turned to leave. "Thank that woman. If you ever want to come back to London, my door's open. Thank you for not calling me an idiot when I dragged you up here." 

Neville shook his hand, parting ways. "Thanks." 

Kingsley reached inside his robes and handed Neville a golden, scratched letter opener. The thing had seen better days, but Neville took it, rather curious. "This was your father's. He started calling me his golden boy when I stopped asking pointless, stupid questions. When I closed my first case, he gave me this; it's something he got from a Muggle charge." 

"Oh, thanks." Neville pocketed the sealed letter that came with it. He didn't recognize the scrawl on the outside of the envelope, though he had a guess. Kingsley's name was written on the outside of the yellowed, aged thick envelope. He'd read it later. 

"Harry, I've got something for you. And Ron, when Gawain Robards is yelling at you, he's not really yelling at you. I know it sounds like it." Kingsley stopped, letting Ron finish his dinner, and have his say. Ron cleared the table with a lazy flick of his wand. Kingsley took out his wand, tapped the table twice, and picked up a large, organized binder. Neville wondered why Kingsley had painstakingly copied hid reports from parchment to paper. "These are my case histories. Follow them to get the formatting down. Befriend a lawyer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." 

Harry took the folder, interested. He drummed his fingers on the binder as he flipped through it and landed on a random page. "Damn, Kingsley, you should have joined the Muggle military." 

"Remus's father suggested I join ranks with the Corps of the Royal Marines once. I almost took him up on the offer, which is why I took a year off after leaving Hogwarts. I would've made it," said Kingsley, sounding proud. He fell into a stance almost automatically. When Harry gave him a questioning look, he added, "Oh, Remus's father and my uncle are best friends. We shared a godfather, a devout, no nonsense, strict one. Remus and me." 

Harry, still reading the book, smiled. "I didn't know that." 

"Yes, Remus usually avoided Uncle Issac like the plague. He did a fine job, too. Bastard. Remus played the fool." Kingsley smiled at the shocked look on Harry's face. "Not to worry. Remus wasn't really Catholic. He put up with Issac. He asked me specifically not to raise Teddy Catholic. He's ... he is not, so you're good. Fair warning, though? If you ever meet Issac Shacklebolt in the street, even if it's just in passing, lie straight through your damn teeth. It's what Teddy's father would've done." 

"All right. Sirius is in here." Harry got lost in the binder as Kingsley left. 

Neville signed off on his cases, wondering if his mother or his father sat here doing the same thing night after night. Neville couldn't really remember his parents. They weren't dead. Neville's grandmother had passed last month. The loss had hit him harder than he'd expected. She was old, older than old. It wasn't like when his grandad had passed. Neville had been there when both of his grandparents had drawn their last breaths. Both of them, oddly enough, had died whilst having private, bedside chats with him. Dewey, his grandfather, had told him to be a brave, strong boy. Augusta told him she'd been proud to raise another son. She'd gotten a second chance. 

"I'm gonna go visit my parents." Neville got to his feet. 

He took the entire unopened bag of chocolate chip biscuits when Ron offered them to him. He hoped they weren't sympathy biscuits. Neville had learned over the past month that he wasn't beneath eating his feelings. In a way, he was glad he was leaving London behind because he'd gained at least fifteen pounds since Gran's passing. Before she'd died, he had dropped weight drastically. Molly Weasley, Neville knew, was covertly telling Ron to fatten his friend up. He said good night, grabbed his traveling cloak, and left the office. He forgot his stuff. 

When he got to St. Mungo's, Neville waved to the Welcome Witch. He'd been coming here ever since he could remember. The hospital staff knew him by sight and ignored the stuff about visiting hours when it came to him. Neville, who had basically lived at the Ministry, felt grateful. When he entered the long-term residents ward, he helped an orderly dress his mother. They exchanged small talk. The orderly smiled as she watched Neville brush his mother's damp hair and left to attend to other patients. Frank, his father, usually spent the night reading through his favorite books. The Healers hadn't the slightest idea whether he retained any of it.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Neville kissed his mother on her withered cheek and went to get his father. 

Frank, always long and lanky, looked like he was losing weight. Someone had cut his hair. Neville took his hand and picked up his chair. He liked having his parents together in the same room. After he set down the chair and deposited a light blanket in it, Neville took a short walk with his father. Frank wore comfortable clothes and fingered a lighter. Frank Longbottom had never been a smoker, at least not that Neville could remember, so he found this trinket an odd one. Neville took the book, and dog-eared the page before he set it on the bedside table and bothered his father. After he helped his dad into a chair, Neville covered him up. It was June, but he always wanted them to feel warm. Frank, the Healers said, suffered from poor circulation. 

"I quit and signed off on my assignments," said Neville conversationally. He had no idea whether or not his parents ever registered anything he said. He opened the bag of biscuits and offered them to his parents. Frank took one, and Alice helped herself to three. Neville, smiling at his mother, handed her another one. "We won't tell anyone." 

Alice looked at him blankly and started humming to herself as she munched on her sweets. Neville sat on the widow sill. There were nights when Frank was active, too. Neville let his father get up and wander over to his spot. Frank returned with a book and sat back down next to his wife. Frank took a bite of his biscuit, squeezed Alice's hand, and handed it to her. Neville waited and waited for moments like this. The Healers didn't know if Alice or Frank knew each other, either, yet Neville took these small things as signs. Perhaps they were lost together and found each other at random moments. Alice dropped her other biscuits in her lap and nibbled on this one. 

"We'll read later," said Neville, setting the book in his lap. A Healer, Miriam something or other, stopped by with a coffee. She'd always called him Mr. Longbottom. He took his coffee with milk and sugar, and she made the perfect blend. He thanked her before she left. Neville sipped his coffee, took off the plastic lid, and dunked a biscuit. "I think I'm falling for a girl." 

Neither of them said a word. Frank scratched the side his nose with a long finger. 

"She's pretty. I mean, I've known her since school. Is it bad I am just now noticing her? That's bad, right?" Neville cupped his coffee in his hands. He was talking himself through his problems, but he didn't feel embarrassed in the slightest. He'd been doing this for years. As a teenager, he felt stupid. His friends didn't know his parents lived at the hospital. He took Frank's hand. "Her name is Hannah, and I think Gran would've liked her, Dad. I know Grandad would have." 

Frank cleared his throat. "Dewey." 

"Yeah!" Neville, shocked, stared at him. Had he just imagined it, or had his father just called out for Neville's grandfather? Neville sat there, wondering whether he ought to snatch a Healer. This connection could break its hold at any moment. Neville had never witnessed this before. His father had understood him. Panicked, excited, and frightened at the same time, Neville walked over and held his father's face in his hands. He couldn't possibly be this lucky. He spoke slowly, his tone measured. "Who am I?" 

"Neville? Neville." Frank blinked at him. His lax, sunken face fell into a small smile. "Hello." 

"Hi." Neville choked back unexpected tears. A Healer had sworn she'd witnessed one of these moments with both Frank and Alice years ago. It was a fleeting moment. Neville's grandmother had called her a liar. 

"What time is it?" Frank licked his lips. "May I have some water?" 

"It's eight thirty." Neville checked his watch, still beside himself with tangled emotions. He conjured a plastic cup and filled it with cold water. He found some lip balm in his mother's bedside table, uncapped it, and handed it to his father. He wanted to say so much. Yet he didn't want to frighten or agitate the man. Frank, usually as silent as his Alice, got more agitated than his wife. "It's a beautiful night." 

"I love the night." His voice sounded hoarse and hollow after years of silence. Frank finished with the lip balm and handed it back to his son. 

"I know." Neville's grandmother had told Neville his father was a night owl. His Uncle Algie had found this strange. Neville had no idea how much time they had. He was definitely staying the night. He wanted his father to say more, for he, Neville, felt like a blundering idiot. Who waited twenty years to discuss the weather or night and day? 

"You look like Alice. Dewey was right about that, too." Frank glanced at his wife. "Alice?" 

Alice had fallen asleep. Fearing this would bother his father, Neville covered his mother with another blanket. Frank, curious, got up and started looking around. Neville wanted him to stay put. Frank seemed to register that he was in a hospital, although he didn't know why. Neville fed him vague answers because the truth was a scary thing. 

Miriam spotted Frank. She turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom?" 

"Yes?" They answered in unison. 

"Oh, my God." Miriam turned towards Frank, her face white. She froze until something registered in her brain. "What's your name?" 

"Francis Dominic Longbottom." Frank gave his legal name automatically. The Healer looked faint. Frank walked up and down the ward searching for something. Although he had to be beyond confused, he spoke confidently and calmly. "My father works in Spell Damage. He is the Chief Healer on this floor? Where's Dewey?" 

Miriam started to say something, but Neville piped up, suddenly nervous, "Shut up, Miriam." 

They got him back in the chair for Neville's sake, although this did nothing to quell Frank's curiosity. The wheels had started turning in his head, and he struggled with what questions to ask first. Neville had always been told his father was a gifted man, so he didn't put anything past him. Would he remember any of it in a few minutes or a few hours? Probably not would extend to definitely not. Frank felt his face, mumbled something under his breath, and dashed into the public restroom. Neville closed his eyes and held his breath. Frank's scream meant he'd caught his reflection in the mirror. 

"You. Stay." Neville held up his hand, stopping Miriam in her tracks. If she alerted the higher ups, Healers, they'd order a battery of tests, and he'd seriously want to kill her. The time would be wasted. He walked into the bathroom and locked the door from the inside before he placed a hand on his father's left hand. Frank's wedding band slipped a little on his third finger. Neville clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe. Deep breaths. You are all right." 

"How old am I?" Frank focused on his face. His skin reminded him of wax paper. He paled, switching his thoughts to Neville. "You were a baby. How old are you?" 

"You're going to freak out." Neville exhaled slowly and pointed to his father and then to himself. Frank nodded, waiting for the news. "You've been out for twenty years. You and Mum got admitted into the hospital in 1982. You're sixty. I'm twenty-two." 

"What? I'm dreaming," decided Frank, nodding to the older man he didn't recognize in the mirror. He paced the bathroom, muttering to himself all the while. His stance reminded Neville of Kingsley's measured, military step. He reached out to Neville as he came back the other way. Neville closed his eyes at his father's touch. He'd imagined his parents waking up all the time. It wasn't that this was an awful experience, he'd simply imagined walking out of the hospital with them. Frank lowered his voice, his tone careful and concerned. "You're crying." 

"Yeah, yeah." Neville swallowed a lump in his throat, wishing this moment would freeze itself in time. The professionals said a child couldn't hold memories until age three. Neville's memory was poor anyway, yet he knew he'd never forget this."It's nice to finally meet you, Dad." 

"Yeah," said Frank chuckling shakily, not believing any of this. He locked Neville in a tight embrace. "Look at you." 

Neville blushed, feeling self-conscious yet again. 

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Frank unlocked the door after a couple tries. His muscles had atrophied. He shook his head, taking it back. "Never mind. I don't wanna know." 

Neville followed him, pleased he had decided to drop the subject. How exactly was he supposed to tell his father he'd been locked inside his own head for twenty years? They couldn't leave the ward. This was a moment of clarity for Frank. Neville refused to lose his own head over this; it would end. It was a gift, he knew, and he wanted to savor it. The Healers had usually spoken to his grandmother, for he was a shy, stupid kid through most of this. He'd come to the hospital to visit his parents, but they were never present. Until now. Neville told his father about the Herbology post and the new girl. 

"So.... Francis, eh?" Neville smirked. 

"Don't I make the prettiest little girl?" Frank raised his eyebrows when Neville burst out laughing, almost doubling over. He paused by the window. "I don't think your grandmother really thought that one out. Dewey got in trouble when he insisted they change it. I was almost an Elliot. It's whatever." 

"You're so laid back." Neville had heard this hundreds of times before. It was truly something to see it. His great uncles and great aunts had basically run stories into the ground. Neville had tired of hearing them. 

"Alastor Moody hated that. Alice and I pretty much partied on our own. Have you met him?" Frank sat down in his chair and crossed his legs. 

"Yes and no," said Neville hesitantly, not wanting to delve deeply into that story. He knelt down beside his mother, smiling when she offered him another sweets wrapper. He pocketed it. Alice wasn't fully awake. Neville lifted her in his arms and carried her like a small child over to the hospital bed. He'd probably regret this later, for he'd catch it from the Healers, but he levitated Frank's bed; it landed softly beside Alice's. "You look tired. Lie down, Dad." 

Frank hesitated for a long minute, wiping his eyes and shaking his head. "I don't want to go asleep. I'll forget." 

Neville shook his head, thankful Miriam had pulled the flowery curtains to give them privacy. Neville didn't want to check his watch, for he had an aching feeling things were winding down. He started crying again. He didn't want to be alone.

"You won't. I won't." Neville pulled at his father's shirt when Frank opened his arms again. 

"I'm so proud of you. You tell this girl you're a Longbottom, eh? You're boring on the outside, sure, but wait and see. That's how I got your mother. Well, actually, I cornered her. On second thought, don't scare her. Not everyone's Alice. I forget that. Ask her." Frank clapped him on the shoulders. They said nothing for a few minutes and held each other. "I love you." 

Neville lost it and buried his head in his father's shoulder. Frank stood there, probably waiting for his son to gather himself. Neville knew he was an Auror, after all, and skilled Aurors didn't wear their emotions on their sleeves. If Neville hadn't been asked, he doubted he would have accepted the Auror post. He accepted it because it was Kingsley Shacklebolt. He'd probably have researched plants. Neville clapped his father on the back, realizing they held each other a long time, and stared into Frank's clouded, blank expression. 

"Dad? Frank?" Neville shook his father and frowned. He was gone. He helped his father into bed and tucked him in. Frank snuggled next to his wife and held her close, and he took the book Neville offered him. Frank opened the book to the right page and got lost in the book. Neville helped himself to Kleenex on Alice's bedside table. His parents fell asleep in each others arms. "I love you, too. Good night." 

Neville decided he'd take the summer off. Perhaps he'd go abroad and study poisonous plants. He'd borrowed books from the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. He'd have to return by August to prepare himself for a new school year. He'd draft lesson plans whilst on his travels. Perhaps he'd think about asking Hannah a certain question. Neville sat in the wooden chair and pulled the letter opener and the thick envelope out of his robes. Setting the letter opener on Alice's bedside table, Neville took the parchment out with shaking fingers and started to read by candlelight.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with my grandfather and my great-grandmother in mind. I'm never gotten a chance to have one of these. I hear they happen. I shot to stay within canon, folks, so this is not AU. I marry myself to canon. It's an imagined moment. Right. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this one. As always, any reviews or critiques would be awesome.


End file.
